Running Away
by WinterBliss
Summary: When Harry’s memories haunt him, the Dursley’s become violent and it seems no one cares. What is left to do?
1. Thoughts

Title: Running away.  
Genre: Angst (well it will be)  
Characters: Harry and any one else I add later.  
Summary: When Harry's memories haunt him, the Dursley's become violent and it seems no one cares. What is left to do?

Rating: PG-13 (It will get worse...)

A purple mist hung over the houses of Privet Drive. The pale sky, ready for the suns awakening, was already beginning to glow; introducing the new day. While most people were sensibly asleep in their beds, not ready to awaken; there was one difference. One boy; alone in his room, who sat in a quite uncomfortable position on the end of his bed.

Harry Potter.

It had been at least three days since Harry had gotten any sleep. His dreams were plagued with nightmares. Nightmares he did not want to revisit. Harry sighed, it was early and he was tired. Too tired to really do anything that day, but he knew he would have to. Vernon and Petunia would find some chore for him, and probably more when he was done. Lately they had been keeping him busier then ever. It was odd, when Harry came to think about it, usually the pair would be glad to get rid of him.

Shifting slightly to allow for more leg room, Harry began to lean backwards onto the uncomfortable covers and mattress below him.

'I can't keep doing this.' Harry thought to himself, 'I'm going to be too exhausted to do anything. _Then _what will Vernon do to me. He'd call me useless, probably kick me out...' His thoughts began to falter, deep inside that is what Harry himself thought. He was useless. It was his fault people kept getting killed: His parents, Cedric, Sirius; all his fault. If Harry hadn't been so stupid, he could have prevented at least two of them from being killed. If he hadn't been born, well...

'If he kicks me out, it will be fine for everyone. Not like I'd argue about it.' He argued mentally, 'It would probably be better. I'd get what I deserve.'

Harry, afraid he'd fall asleep even sitting on the hard, lump bed stood up quickly; too quickly. He was already tired, sore and standing up that quickly didn't do much for it. Everything went blurry, tipping upside-down for a moment. When Harry finally got his head together, he began to pace across the room.

"It is about time I wrote to Ron and Hermione," He whispered to himself, glad he found something to keep his mind off things. Quickly finding a hidden piece of parchment and a quill, Harry sat down (cross-legged) on the floor – parchment in front of him. "How should I start it?" He asked himself, out-loud.

Finally, he just began writing something, anything; whether it was truth or not.

_Ron,_

_How are you? I hope well. Look, sorry I didn't write earlier. I couldn't find the time. I've been quite busy. Everything here is great. What have you been up to? I was surprised when I received no owls from you or Hermione. Why didn't you write? It might have reminded me to write. Anyway, I have to go. _

_Bye, _

_Harry._

He re-read it, it wasn't exactly the truth. Well, hardly anything was the truth. He could find the time; he had all the time in the world. He jut hadn't felt like writing. He still didn't, but he was sure someone would get suspicious and send a scout over to investigate. They were like that now, ever since... That event.

'Everything here is great,' when Harry re-read that line he scoffed. It was far from true. He was being worked so hard, bullied, and starved. The usual, only worse; and no one knew, or cared. Harry wasn't surprised when he didn't get any owls. He knew why. Harry was more than sure that Hermione had warned Ron not to owl him until they were sure he had cooled down. After all, they were bound to have noticed the change in his behaviour after Sirius was taken from him. Especially after the talk he had gotten from Dumbledore.

Even the last sentence was wrong, 'Anyway, I have to go?' He had all the time in the world. He could have written pages and pages explaining everything. How guilty he felt, what was happening to him; mentally as well as physically, how much he hated this place, how much he longed for Hogwarts – but didn't particularly want to go back and how much he longed for something... his own, to prove he was still human. Not this insane monster he believed he was.

Deciding, finally, it would at least keep them off his back (at least for a little while) Harry rewrote the same letter (changing the names around) and addressed it to Hermione. Folding them slowly, he wondered how long it would be until Hedwig was awake enough to make the journey to either place.

As if she could read her masters mind, Hedwig bounced over to Harry, leg out. This made Harry smile, the first true smile he had had since last year – at least. As soon as Harry had tied both letters to Hedwig's leg, Hedwig pounced up and flew into the sunrise. She would deliver Hermione's first, then continue her journey to Ron's before making it back home.

'Maybe with replies,' Harry thought.

"Boy, come down here. Now!" Harry heard his uncle screech from the kitchen. Harry, startled looked at the small clock on his bedside table. It was 7:00 am.

"I didn't fall asleep did I?" he said to himself, he knew he hadn't. If he had he would have been awaken by dreams, not his uncle calling for breakfast. "Must've been lost in thought," He replied, answering his own question.

"Coming Uncle Vernon," he called, standing up and making his way to the door. Harry was still tired, would be all day. He knew he couldn't make one more sleepless night; he had to face the dreams. What he hated was he had no one to tell them to. Sirius was the last person who understood and now... he was gone. Harry hung his head – partly in shame, partly in preservation of his godfather's memory.

"Boy!" He heard Vernon call again, this time more threatening, menacing. Harry knew he had to get down there as quickly as possible. So, walking out of the bedroom he was forced to sleep in and down the stairs, Harry faced his uncle and asked, dumbly, "Yes Uncle Vernon?"

His uncle stared at him. Harry, who was now was almost taller then Vernon looked at him right back. His uncles eyes were showing signs of anger, the question was dumb.

"You know what, boy," he said, Harry was startled, the words sounded more like they were coming from Voldermort then his uncle. Harry knew something was up, and didn't feel like being around when it surfaced.

Harry let go quickly, "Sorry," he said. He didn't need to apologise, why would he? But somehow he knew it was best. It would keep Vernon, who was in a particularly menacing mood that morning, from hurting him. Which Harry was sure he would do is he persisted. His uncle was normally non-violent, to some degree at least, but something was defiantly different. Harry could smell change.

Harry made his way to the stove, and began cooking up a few eggs and some bacon. The Dursely's favourite breakfast. Vernon looked satisfied and sat down at the table, opening up the paper and hiding his head in it.

Harry glared at him, right through the paper and into his uncle. He was sure Vernon would feel it. He better at least, it took effort. 'Why does he keep doing this? Is he so stupid he doesn't even know how to make his own breakfast?' It struck Harry he must know, or at least Petunia must know. After all, for the majority of the year Harry was at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. Just that name brought up memories, ones Harry didn't want to surface. Not now, not ever, at least; Not in the near future. Lost in thought, Harry noticed suddenly the eggs were beginning to harden. Vernon hated his eggs like that. Quickly turning off the gas, and grabbing a plate, he served a few eggs onto Vernon's plate and then some onto Dudley's, who had obviously taken his place at the table while Harry had been cooking.

With a look that meant, 'Happy now?' Harry walked back up into his bedroom and sat down on the blue sheets of his bed. It was all his fault. Everything that happened, **everything! **Harry's eyes, which usually had some spark, were empty; tears threatening to fill them.

'I am just over-reacting,' Harry tried to reason with himself, 'It's not that bad. I'll get over it. I will!' It wasn't working. Memories of his godfather, Sirius, flooded his mind. How happy he was when he learnt about Sirius. How happy Sirius looked when he had met Harry. Harry could talk to Sirius; things were explained and sorted out. Now Sirius was gone, who was left Harry could trust enough to tell. Not his friends; they would go to Dumbledore, they always did. Not Dumbledore. The old man would probably blame himself on Harry's feelings.

Harry could still vividly see his godfather, his last relative in the world who cared about him, disappear before his very own eyes.

Sirius's eyes widening in shock as a jet of light hit him squarely in the chest. Sirius falling, slowly, his body creating an arch as it fell. The look of fear, surprise on his godfathers face as he fell. And. The doorway, as fluttered back into place; as if no one had touched it.

These last memories were too much for Harry, who was already on the brink of tears. He didn't care if it was sunny out. He didn't care if people could see him. Harry was not even aware of his surroundings as he lunged forward, head first, onto his bed. Arm around his head; sobbing.

'Why did you have to leave me,' Harry cursed his godfather silently, 'Everything was perfect. It was finally working out. Why did you have to go and, and _die_ on me!

Die. Harry surprised even himself with that comment. His surprise wasn't enough to stop the tears which had taken control of him. But, these tears were good. They meant he had finally accepted him godfather was dead. Well, beginning to accept it.

Inside Harry was angry, not only at his godfather. But himself; for everything he did. It was obvious he felt guilty about it. However, there was much more to it then that. And it would take longer then one silent cry to get over it.

----

(This is my first published fanfic. Second one I've ever written. Has anyone got any tips to make it better?)


	2. The Letter

Title: Running away.  
Genre: Angst (well it will be)  
Characters: Harry and any one else I add later.  
Summary: When Harry's memories haunt him, the Dursley's become violent and it seems no one cares. What is left to do?

Rating: PG-13 (It will get worse...)

Note: This chapter is in Ron's and Hermione's POV

The wind whistled past Hermione Grangers' house, causing a slight humming sound to echo about the relatively empty house. The Granger residence had been practically deserted all summer so far. Hermione Granger, the only person home, had spent most of her holidays doing homework.

Both her parents were at a conference, and Hermione had finally made them agree to letting her stay home herself for a while. She could only imagine what Ron would say to that. Hermione's homework was nearly done. In fact, she was so close to finishing she had brought another assignment; for extra credit, upon herself to finish.

She stared at the letters piled on her desk, all from Ron. Sighing, Hermione picked up the latest one. She recognised the handwriting at once. It definitely wasn't from Ron; in fact it wasn't even from anyone whom she suspected to write to her. It was from Harry. Harry Potter, the same boy who had gone into a total sulk at the end of last year.

Hermione knew the loss of his godfather weighed him down considerably, but she could sense there was something more. Something he wasn't telling them, and she was slightly mad at him. After all; they were his friends, they should know.

Hermione had warned Ron not to write to Harry, this wasn't for one main reason and the reason she had given Ron wasn't even close to the truth. Hermione, deep down in her mind, wanted Harry to come back and admit to things. How he felt towards events and how he pictured his friends. Sure, she didn't want to upset him and Ron always did just that, but Hermione wanted him to admit to his feelings. It was healthier for him.

When she first began thinking about that, she had laughed at herself saying. "Merlin, I'm thinking like a physiatrist." But now, days after her original thoughts she didn't laugh. She meant what she had though; she meant was she was holding herself to!

Hermione shuffled the letter between her fingers, unsure whether to open it or not. She had simply ignored Ron's letters; all 12 of them. But Hermione wasn't sure whether Harry's could be ignored. She decided to open it,

'If it is something I can ignore, I will.' She thought, 'After I read it.'

Hermione undid the ribbon that held it together with her fingernails, and unfolded the yellowing piece of parchment delicately. The paper was defiantly old, but Hermione wasn't sure it meant anything. Harry often carried around pieces of old parchment he had found. Sure it was strange, but at least he didn't collect warts in a jar or something.

All Hermione had to do was skim the letter to sense something was wrong. She knew her friend all to well. Unlike Ron, Hermione listened to him and understood what he was talking about, most the time; she could tell when something was bothering him. Ron would just shrug it off, thinking he would get over it; and if he didn't... Hermione knew Ron cared. But sometimes he was such an optimist.

Hermione was unsure what to do with the letter, she didn't want to send it to Dumbledore or Ron and upset Harry. She knew how he liked to keep things private.

Hermione was puzzled. She didn't want to ask Harry what was "truly" going on. Knowing him, he would just do the 'oh, nothing' routine. However, the letter was a total cry for help. She didn't want to just leave it and let him be either.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours of contemplating, Hermione decided to write Harry. Ask what was really up. Harry would know she didn't wasn't to break their trust, and would probably ignore her, but she hoped it was for the best.

Crookshanks, who had been sleeping on Hermione's purple doona all day stirred. She stood up, stretched sleepily and jumped right over to where Hermione sat on the floor.

Smiling, Hermione picked her cat up and scratched her under the chin. "Aren't you a cutie pie?" She cooed, forgetting about what she was about to do. Crookshanks purred in response and walked over to Hermione's dresser, knocking off her quill.

She couldn't bring herself to punish the cat, it was only trying to help and help it had done. The quill instantly reminded Hermione of the letter she was going to write. Spare parchment already in front of her, from her homework, Hermione started by writing simple.

"_Dear Harry,"_

She paused, "What should I write that wont hurt him, or break the trust?" she asked the air. This, of course, gave no response. Finally, she just wrote what came to her. A long letter full of "But's and If's;" nothing to be proud of.

Frustrated Hermione threw down her pen and sighed loudly. "I give up!" She said, admitting defeat (probably for the first time in her life.)

Even though she knew Harry would not like it, Hermione decided it might be best if Dumbledore get his letter. Then maybe things would settle and Harry would become calmer, more centred.

_Dumbledore,_

_I know it is a bit odd to be hearing from one of your students, but I got this letter from Harry and thought you might want to look at it._

_I'm not sure what it means, but never have I heard Harry say things at the Dursely's were going "great." He just isn't like that and I am worried about him._

_Can you please look into it and put my mind at rest._

_Thankyou, _

_Hermione Granger._

She folded it and placed it in an envelope; adding the original copy of Harry's letter behind it. Hermione's parents had luckily given her the money to buy a small brown owl for the house. Even though she did not live in the "magic world" it was easier. People wouldn't get suspicious, everyone had pets. Some people on her street even kept tarantulas!

It was, though, extremely lucky her parents had gotten the owl. While Hermione tied the letter to Isis's leg (which was what she had named the owl) she silently noted to thank her parents considerably.

Letting the owl go, she wondered how Harry was really doing, and how Ron was coping....

At the Burrow things had been hectic all summer so far. Although it was not that far into the summer, it seemed as if it had been going forever. The long summer days seemed to drag on for everyone. Especially Ron. Ron was used to having a friend around, whether it was Hermione and Harry, or one of his brothers.

This summer though, he didn't have them. Hermione had warned Ron not to owl Harry until they were sure he was ready. He knew Harry knew this as well. His friend always knew these things; somehow. Hermione hadn't owled Ron even though Ron had tried countless times to owl her. He never got a response. Fred and George were off running there business, Molly still had not gotten used to the fact that was where they were going in life. Ginny, was the only one left at home, other then Ron; and it wasn't much fun to try and do things with her.

Ron, who was sitting in his bedroom staring at the brightly coloured Chudley Cannons poster, wasn't sure what to do with the day. He wanted to owl Harry and asks him what was up, invite him over. Be like old times; but it was never going to be like that. Things had changed, permanently.

From the kitchen Ron could smell the delectable armours of chocolate cake. He was sure it was chocolate cake; the smells were definitely rich, nice. Smiling, Ron followed his nose into the kitchen were he was confronted by his mother.

"Ron," She started, "you only ever care about your stomach, have you got any of your homework done yet?"

Ron tried to look guilty, not quite pulling it off, "Not yet mum, I was going to wait a bit, start it later." He pulled a chair from underneath the table and sat down on it.

"So, did you cook the cake?" He asked, eyeing what looked like the largest chocolate cake his mother had attempted to make.

"Yes, I did." Molly weasley answered truthfully, "I hope it tastes ok, I made it especially for tonight. I though we all needed some cheering up, especially now Fred and George are gone."

Ron looked down; it was obvious he wasn't going to get any right at that second. It was such a nice reason for his mother to make the cake. Totally unlike her, after all she didn't usually attempt those sorts of things. Again Ron was stuck with the predicament: What to do.

He didn't have to think long, though, as a small tapping sound was heard around the kitchen. Tap, tap, tap. Ron knew instantly where the abrasive sound was coming from: the window. Smiling, Ron made his way through the kitchen (which was unusually cluttered) without tripping over a single pot or pan, and opened the window slightly; just enough to let the large snowy owl inside.

"'Ello Hedwig," Ron greeted the owl cheerfully; Hedwig pecked his hand in response. Ron pulled away his hand, it had been a while since Hedwig had done that to him (it had been a while since any owl had done that to him...), instead he patted her on the head, his little finger stinging slightly.

"Has Harry written to me at last?" Ron asked the owl, pulling a small stained-yellow piece of parchment from the owls' leg.

'Looks old,' He thought unravelling the red ribbon that loosely tied it, round the letters middle.

Ron didn't pay too much attention to what was actually written and skimmed through it quickly. The first thing he noticed was its length. Short, very short, Ron wasn't sure what this meant. He re-read it, and seemed satisfied. The old parchment was cool to touch, and was a strange yellow colour; but looked alright to him.

However, Ron payed no attention to this; preferring to aim the whole of his attention, or at least all he could give, to the actual letter itself. Although it was all good, and Ron felt somehow satisfied, even though he knew it was strange and decided to occupy his time writing back.

"What's that you've got dear?" He heard his mother ask, finally.

"Letter from Harry," Ron replied, almost instantaneously. He could predict his mothers answer to that, anyone could.

"That's nice, how is he?"

Ron didn't even bother answering; instead he picked up the small letter and handed it to Mrs. Weasley for her to read herself. It was easier that way; Ron wouldn't have to do any explaining.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Weasley to finish reading the handwritten letter, but instead of smiling with her usual response "that's nice," Molly Weasley frowned stating simply,

"I'm not so sure about this..." She placed the letter back on the table, just as Ron began writing his reply and walked out the room rather quickly.

'Strange,' Ron thought, and went to work on his reply...

Ok, Well. This was a pretty useless chapter, but I wanted to explain a little further about why he hadn't gotten owls from Ron or Hermione. So, next chap will be back to Harry POV!

Thanks to **ciberloco, Severed Glass **and **xxambzxx** for reviewing.

**Ciberloco: **Thanks, I appreciate the fact you like it (at least a little) so far. I was thinking of turning it into a one-shot; but decided to go further. Thanks for the help; I am going to use it. –Smiles- . This chapter I already knew I was writing, and doesn't work by your help, but keep a look out.

**Severed Glass: **Thanks as well. I know it isn't a new idea. This is the first fic I've published so I wanted to practise something others have written and try to perfect my writing technique before using my own ideas. I'll try to add unexpected plot twists, but I don't know where yet. They'll definitely be coming though... I hope. Also, I will try to use the other 4 senses, warn me if I'm not. Threatening usually works!

**Xxambzxx: **I didn't really understand your review. But thanks for reviewing all the same.


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